


The Winchester Family

by ashwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Crime Family AU, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Possessive Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Think Borgias meets the Kray twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-24 19:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashwitch/pseuds/ashwitch
Summary: AU where the Winchester family runs a city, a plotbunny I couldn't get out of my head after seeing the 300th episode photoshoot





	1. Chapter 1

The Winchester family owned Woodbridge. 

Not in the legal sense, but it was clear who ran the city. Nobody could quite pinpoint when it happened, it was as if one day you woke up and suddenly the rug was swept up from underneath. No longer was the city a perfect competition, lines of big and small businesses working alongside one another, keeping the peace. No, it became the Winchester Monopoly, with every person aware of the silent hand that was now constantly around their neck.

Nobody could say a thing. They wouldn't _ dare _ to, they've heard the stories of what loose lips leads to. It didn't matter if you were walking along the main road, in a crowded bar, or sitting in your bedroom. Rule number one; You did not talk about the Winchesters. 

Which begged the question. Who the fuck _ were _ they? 

The person you would see the most was John. Tall, brash, still managing to maintain a level of ruggedness underneath his $5000 suits. He was the alpha, the mouthpiece of the business. He was wildly charismatic to the point where if you were in conversation with him you could almost feel a physical _ pull _towards him, yet when you looked in his eyes you could see the danger lurking underneath. Rule number two; you do not piss off John Winchester. Once again, you're never quite sure if all the rumors were true, but anyone with half a brain cell knew not to test the theory. You stay calm, you smile and laugh, and you never disagree.

John may be so charismatic to the point of flirting, but it was clear that there was only one person whom he had eyes for. 

Mary Winchester. Tall, blonde and drop dead gorgeous. Unlike John she emitted a presence of friendliness and was less on-guard. Upon first glance you may even be perplexed, how does she fit into this dynamic of a ruthless crime family? But then the penny drops; she has no need to be dangerous because her pack do it for her. They worked in sync, Mary charming her way through the crowds while John seals the deal with every businessman in town. And when they look at each other, it’s as if their souls are reuniting. It would be romantic if you weren't scared shitless by being in their presence. 

The mother and father may be one thing, but it’s the sons that get the proverbial tongues wagging. 

Sam is the youngest, yet the tallest by far. He’s lean, with his chin length hair always carefully styled, and he uses his perfected combination of height and elegance to his full advantage. He’ll walk up, strike up a conversation as if you’re old friends, trailing his fingers down your arm and scanning your body with his eyes. His flamboyance and confidence, however, is a trap. Rule number three is the most well known and the most broken. You do not flirt with Sam Winchester. 

New people are often the most unaware, so overcome by this handsome 6’4” man, and are sucked in instantly. Some people may even see it as an in; if they woo a Winchester, they’re set up for life. But what they fail to notice is the silent, brooding brother standing three feet away, watching every move they make. Everyone in the city seems to have a story about an unsuspecting newcomer who disappears suddenly. 

Dean. To put it bluntly, he’s a psychopath. Rarely says a word and is often seen as the ‘muscle’ of the family, but don’t make the mistake in thinking the others are unable to defend themselves. He and Sam are seldom seen apart, and when together it was clear that the younger brother was always in the older’s sight. 

Seemingly the most unusual aspect of the two was their similarity to their parents. Not so much in the sense of individual characteristics, but rather how they interacted with one another. Much like John and Mary, there was an aura of connectivity between the sons. It was as if they themselves were not two souls, but two halves of one. Sam socializes and flirts, but underneath it’s an act, and if you’re lucky you can see the flicker in his eyes when he looks at his brother. The tenderness underneath the bravado. The looks are returned with a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder, arm or back. It’s almost jarring to see to see the mask of psychopathy fall, if just for a second, but any affection outwardly shown is swiftly overshadowed by the possessive nature that surrounds him and Sam. It was a balance, such is everything else that surrounds this mysterious family. 

Some of the Winchester House Rules were obvious, but others were unpredictable, one wrong word and you’d accidentally signed your death warrant. George, a wide eyed man no older than 25 made that mistake once. Sam was talking with him in a bar, laughing and smirking, Dean the next seat over but relatively unguarded. George was anxious at first but relaxed into the conversation, building a real rapport. Then it happened. 

“So, you work at the brewery? Think you can squeeze in a little taster session for me?” Sam said with a wink. 

“Oh--sure! It’s a great place Sammy, you’d love it there” 

Silence filled the bar. 

The shift in Sam’s demeanor was chilling, and it became apparent where the family resemblance lay. Stone cold eyes bored into George from both boys before Sam said, low and quiet,

“He’s the only one who gets to call me that” 

Poor George didn’t know what to do, and simply began blabbering apologies before backing out of the bar, sprinting home. It would be nice to believe that he then simply moved away out of fear or humiliation, but no-one in the city was that naive. 

The peculiar bond between the brothers was relatively public, their unwavering codependency to the point of obsession clear to see, yet it is never brought up. Rule number one is don’t talk about the Winchesters, and Subsection A is don’t discuss Sam and Dean’s relationship. 

That mistake was quickly learned after a gossiping shop owner saw the boys leave the restaurant he was eating at. As soon as they were out the door, he leaned over to his friend and said, “Those two...you don’t think they’re--” 

He didn’t even manage to finish his sentence before his table fell silent. They looked away, as if not to address him, to remove themselves from his words, and the realization dawned on him right before he stood up and walked out. The next morning his shop didn’t open its shutters, and the man had apparently “moved across the country” without even saying goodbye to his family. 

Truth be told, it didn’t even seem as though the boys cared what others would think. It was a power move, a proverbial ‘fuck you’ to everyone, they’re already able to get away with everything else so why try to hide it? 

Woodbridge was not an unpleasant place to be. You would assume that that sort of stronghold would drive people away, yet as the years went on it seemed to have had the opposite effect. The crime rate has plummeted, though you’re never quite certain what goes on behind the curtain, and as long as you follow the rules you can live a normal, happy life. 

You go about your day, run your errands, and pretend not to notice how people subconsciously step to the side and drop their gaze when they spot a Winchester walking down the street.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Oh--sure! It’s a great place Sammy, you’d love it there” _

Sam was still smirking an hour after that little slip, revelling in the chaos that those moments bring. When something happens it’s usually grand gestures; they’ll have a rebel, someone who_ just can’t take it anymore! _ And decides to be a vigilante. That usually results in either a verbal enigmatic speech of some sort and, very rarely, can lead into something more physical. Of course anyone who has heard enough rumors about the Winchester family understands what a monumentally stupid idea that is, yet there is always someone who gets it in their mind that, perhaps, not everything they hear is true _ . It can’t be, surely? _They think. 

They learn the real truth very quickly. 

Sam doesn’t care for the big ones. They bore him, the effort of having to disarm them not really worth the satisfaction of proving their power. No, it’s the small mistakes that he loves, the little words and phrases that slip out of someone’s mouth without even a second thought. He loves watching their faces, relishing the live-action view of witnessing someone realize that they’ve just signed their own death sentence. 

Bad-mouthing a business deal, any variation of insult or mockery aimed towards the family, there are numerous ways of doing it. But it’s that one particular word, those mere five letters that Sam lives for. 

_ Sammy. _

He doesn’t love it _ because _ they say it, in fact it invokes a heated anger deep within his belly. The word represents a million tiny things, there’s a cataclysmic symbolism that is laced within. 

But above all, it means _ mine _. 

And Sam loves it because Dean knows that meaning as well. 

The Winchester boys are so connected, so in-tune with each other that as soon as that word rolls off the tongue of another, it’s as if they can both feel each other recoil. Sam waits for Dean to assert his position through his looks and familiar touch, and Dean waits for Sam to retaliate with his infamous response. 

_ “He’s the only one who gets to call me that” _

It’s a dance, almost theatrical, the way they perform the same routine over and over. Here Sam was, sat next to a trembling young man by the name of George, knowing that in this moment he wouldn’t change a damn thing. 

Sam kept his cutting gaze yet stayed silent, simply watching as the man practically fell off his chair and scrambled out of the bar. Oh so slowly, Sam turned his gaze to Dean. He was stood behind Sam’s barstool as is his usual position in public, but now his hand was planted firmly on the younger Winchester’s shoulder. There was heat in Dean’s eyes, though out of anger or passion Sam is unsure. They locked eyes and Sam smiled innocently. 

“Poor man forgot his jacket” 

Dean shifted his eyes over to the leather jacket strewn haphazardly across the barstool, silently lifting it up before shoving it into the nearest person. The woman looked up in surprise at the intrusion but as soon as she registered who’s hand was in front of her she dropped her gaze, grabbed the jacket and walked off. Sam wracked his brain trying to remember exactly when they started doing that, giving away the items people had left behind out of sheer fear, but for the life of him he couldn’t. Just one of the many things they do for fun. Keeps it interesting and keeps people on their toes. 

Sam looked to Dean once more and tapped the hand that was on his shoulder, an indication to sit down with him. It’s not as if Sam controls Dean, they’d simply just developed a shorthand over the years, a catalogue of looks and gestures that only they know and comprehend. Dean scans the bar once more, watching as the people slowly started their conversations up again in an attempt to pretend nothing had happened, then sat down next to Sam. He didn’t remove his hand, instead opting guiding it down to the small of his back, a message of_ I’m calm _ and _ I’ve got you _ rolled up in one. 

Sam knows what people think. He knows that upon first glance it’s ‘obvious’ that he is in charge, smirking and flirting and charming his way through the crowd while his mute older brother stalks behind him as the silent muscle; messed around with and underappreciated. _ Why is he so quiet? Is he ok? Does he need to be rescued from his abusive parents and arrogant younger brother? _ Then they observe them, watch them mill around the city for days and weeks, and then it ‘clicks’. _ Oh! The older one is so possessive of the younger! He won’t even allow him out of his sight, poor thing. He must have no concept of what is normal. _Then they sit, watching the family, smugly thinking that they have everything figured out. 

Sometimes it shocks Sam how blindingly oblivious they are. 

There’s no power struggle. Their relationship is not a fight for dominance, it is a coming together of two halves. When Sam and Dean Winchester are together they are one; their skills and assets blending together in perfect harmony. When they are apart they are unbalanced, both professionally and personally. 

They give each other what they need, and every other person in the entire world is secondary to them. 

When Sam flirts his way through a crowd he is not teasing Dean, he’s utilising his skills. In return, when Dean fights off unwanted guests with nothing more than a steeled look, he isn’t controlling Sam, he’s utilising _ his _ skills. 

Though, Sam will admit, both do use their skills for reasons that are...less than professional. 

Sam dragged out their time at the bar, sipping his drink and chatting to the bartender. Dean sat patiently, never removing his hand and still scanning the area every five minutes. Eventually, he gives Sam a look to say _ we’re leaving _, and like clockwork Sam stands up, waves goodbye and walks out with Dean in tow. 

They could waste their time walking back to the house, but they owned the Palace Hotel two blocks down and something tells Sam they may need a little more privacy. Gazes dropped as they strolled in, and Sam waited patiently as Dean dealt with the receptionist. 

“Mr Winchester! How can I-” 

“Empty the 12th floor” 

This is not the first time the request had been made, so the fact that there was nobody currently staying on the 12th floor did not surprise Sam. The receptionist hurried around, shaky hands dropping the key to the presidential suite into Dean’s. He turned towards the elevator, one finger crooking as to call Sam to him. 

They strolled over to the elevator side by side, stood silently next to each other on the ride up, and walked patiently to the double doors. 

It wasn’t until Dean slammed the doors behind them that their guard finally fell. 

Sam was immediately shoved against the wall, gasping as he felt Dean’s hands weaving into Sam’s hair, their lips crashing together quickly after. 

“Oh my god” Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth as his arms gripped Dean’s sides. The reward was worth the wait. 

“‘Sammy’? Fucking_ ‘Sammy’ _are you kidding me?” Dean growled out, mouth now trailing down Sam’s jaw and latching onto his neck. 

“I know, you--” Sam paused to gasp as he felt the suction, the mark being branded into his neck. “You’d think everybody w-would know that one by n-now” 

Dean didn’t respond, his mind and hands far too focused on undoing the buttons of Sam’s white button-down shirt. He lavished the feeling of Dean’s hands and mouth searing into his chest, but as Dean was working the buttons he was muttering profusely to himself. 

“Fucking ‘Sammy’...The fuck does he think he is?...Gonna rip his fucking--”

Sam quickly realized his brother was perhaps a little too worked up. 

“Hey--hey slow down, look at me” 

Dean slowly stopped, hands resting on Sam’s half exposed chest, the room silent save for their laboured breathing. Sam dropped his forehead to Dean’s, planting chaste kisses on his lips between words as he spoke. 

“Always yours...Don’t worry...Your Sammy” 

Sam lingered for a second after that and felt Dean’s lips twitch. 

“My Sammy” He whispered, eyes closed as he repeated the words against Sam. 

Sam deepened the kiss, tongue tracing Dean’s bottom lip before biting it softly. 

More than anything they do, more than the parties and perks and money and fucking _ anything _, Sam loved Dean. He loved the place he held in Dean’s heart, he loved that only he got to look beyond the mysterious, terrifying exterior. He especially loved that people believe he’s mute, yet when they’re alone he never stops fucking talking. 

“Yours”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this chapter to be so...expositional, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
thank you to all those who wanted some more of this, I really appreciate it <3


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